


Twelve

by ReoPlusOne



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReoPlusOne/pseuds/ReoPlusOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extremely fluffy oneshot.  Arthur collects enough cats to be called a crazy cat guy.  Al can at least erase the 'cat' part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twelve

It started simply enough. **  
**

Arthur worked in a vet clinic, after all, and being the newest employee of the clinic as well as the only one who hadn’t rescued a patient from said clinic wasn’t a coincidence.  Every time he felt the silence in his little apartment he promised himself he would fill it -- someday soon, when the time was right.

As with all things in his line of work, it started with a bleeding fool (Arthur had so little tolerance for them, it was a wonder that he kept his job at all).

“We’ve been giving her milk,” The lady said of the helpless bundle she’d just handed over to Arthur.  It barely had enough energy to squirm around beneath his fingertips; a warning sign for a kitten so young.

“Kitten formula?”

“Low-fat cow’s milk.  She wasn’t very fond of it, though.”

“She’ll have to be euthanized, I’m very sorry.  Good day, madam.” Without a tear in her eyes the client shuffled out to her car -- as the front door chimed for her departure the loud purrs of the kitten filled the room, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief.

Though he was a large and intimidating man, Dr. Beilschmidt had a nasty habit of accidentally sneaking up on people.  He probably didn’t mean to come off the way he did, but his broad shoulders, deep voice and German accent worked together to make the perfect, fearsome storm.  For the clients, he was an acquired taste, but for the other staff, it wasn’t difficult; every day he came to work he brought his two smiling shepherds into the clinic to follow him from room to room and sleep at his feet beneath his desk.  When one of them went to live with his brother, the sounds of Dr. Beilschmidt skyping his dog could be heard throughout the office every day at lunchtime.

This knowledge did not quiet Arthur’s nerves when he heard the vet’s voice behind him and jumped.  “Are you taking that one home?”

“Oh, um, yes.  I think so.” Ludwig left, and returned with a warm towel for the kitten -- giant fingers rubbed little circles on her forehead until she finally drifted off to sleep.  “How much do I owe the office for the kitten formula?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Arthur swallowed.  “Are you sure? I’ve got enough for a few bottles, at least.” Ludwig shook his head and departed, his ever-grinning dog in tow.

There was no way he could leave without a fuss being raised; Feliks and Tino, their two receptionists, howled with delight at every wiggle of the little one’s tail, and it was their enthusiasm (as well as Arthur's British politeness) that kept Arthur in the office until the sun had set.

“What are you gonna name her?”

“I’m not sure,” Arthur said with a shrug, “Something simple, probably.  Like Alice.”

Feliks turned up his nose in his greatest attempt to be polite; Tino only beamed.  “What about Lady Sassafrass of Seldica Province?”

“I’ll -- give that one some thought,”

“It really suits her.”

A white kitten with two black spots on her back had one obvious choice for a name: Domino.  Little Domino grew swiftly into big Domino, as well as the ruler of the small roost that was Arthur’s apartment.  Just as she grew into a spindly teenage cat, all legs and attitude (Lady Sass might have been an appropriate name, had it stuck as Tino thought it would) another kitten arrived at the clinic needing a caretaker and a loving home.

Arthur didn’t think of his compassion as a problem, but swiftly, it became one.

Twelve cats would have been a bit much even for a mansion, but in Arthur’s one-bedroom, it was a nightmare.  At the very least, he was never cold at night, but when the urge to warm his bed with human rather than feline company reared its ugly head, the cats became the core of conflict.

At first, he tried to just be honest about them.  The first date, he would (casually, _gently_ ), ease the topic towards pets.  How cute kittens were.  How sweet.  How much fun adult cats were.  How he had _twelve_ of them in his apartment.  The casualty of his boldness was three; three dates, three possible people, and at least one phone number with three fewer digits than it should.

Next, Arthur tried a slightly sneakier approach.  He dodged the question of pets, kept the fire burning until it was time to head back to his place, and then -- _oh, then_! He could open the door, invite them in to sit on his sofa, and when the question was raised again?

“Oh, only twelve.”

Arthur had thought most people would be polite enough to not walk out just before the commencement of nookie.  Arthur thought wrong.

\--

He’d had as many failed dates as he had cats by the time he met Alfred.  His desperation and poor tactics had given way to indifference and so when his date mentioned his dog (dog, just _dog_ , singular), Arthur casually mentioned his cats (and thank god that the English language didn’t differentiate between ‘two’ and ‘a stupid amount of’ cats), and that there were twelve of them.

“Wow, that’s pretty cool,” Alfred said, and continued talking about his Christmas plans.

That night they held hands as Arthur led Alfred up the steps to his apartment.  It ended with a kiss, sincere, on the lips, and a whispered “I’ll text you, okay?” in Arthur’s ear.  He took that as a promise that was never supposed to be kept, and went inside to start work on making dinner for his little ones.

Two days passed in routine radio silence; Arthur was mashing up wet food in chicken broth for his most elderly rescue (funny how their diets were prescription and his was mostly ramen) when his phone began to buzz.

One.  Two.  Three buzzes.

He rolled his eyes and prayed it wasn’t a coworker begging for their shift to get covered.  His one day off was more sacred than Christmas, and if they thought that he was willing to give it up again for some rubbish half-lie about a ‘nephew’ and a ‘birthday party’, then they could --

_Hey ;)_

_You busy tonight?_

_\- Al_

… Oh.

What did a winking face mean again? Was it sex? Did a winking face mean he had a good time? Not a good time? Or was it really just about sex? (Probably was…) 

He respected himself too much to be some yank’s booty call.

Or _did_ he?

These were all things he asked his cats in the twenty minutes following those text messages; they did not respond.  Arthur finally settled on something.

_Not busy, but I feel like staying in._

He liked Alfred.  He really did.  So it was for the best that he not get attached -- not to those eyes, not to that voice, not to the first kiss he’d gotten since college when he was happily pet-free --

_Cool, I’ll bring dinner if you’ve got booze.  ;)_

There was the winking face again.  Damn it all, Arthur never thought he’d regret not paying more attention to these things in secondary school.

_;)_

He sent it off with a lump in his chest, then set to get out the vacuum cleaner -- at the very least he could make the apartment presentable for the ruinous almost-date to come.

\--

“McDonald’s?”

“Yeah dude.  I got us two cheeseburgers and a big thing of chicken nuggets to share.”

“Can you really eat all of that?”

“Yeah! I like to put the chicken nuggets on top of the burger patty and eat the whole thing like a chicken-beef sandwich.”

At first Arthur wondered if Alfred was lying or maybe joking -- it did not take long for him to learn that no, Alfred didn’t joke when it came to food, and yes, he really enjoyed the frankenstein-esque sandwich he’d concocted.  Arthur also figured out that he was only newly 21 and hadn’t yet acquired a taste for beer. By that point Arthur was close to mocking him, though the adorable squinty-faces Alfred was in the habit of making with every sip stopped him.

“ _Yucky_.”

“Yucky?”

“Bleh.”

They slept together that night; it was awkward and messy (Arthur might have been self-conscious over his lack of experience but the simple fact was that Alfred fucked like a virgin -- most likely because he was one), and more than one of them fell off the bed at a certain point.  But as they drifted away into the dull quiet of two A.M. Arthur recalled that Alfred hadn’t mentioned the cats even once.

The storm he was so sure was inevitable just hadn’t come.  At least, not yet.

\--

“My brother was saying he wants a kitten.  You know him and his wife are moving, and they haven’t had a cat before,”

“I’ll get them the number for the animal rescue down the road.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean… what about Pookie?”

Arthur looked up from his laptop, eyes narrowed.  “What about Pookie?”

“I mean, fourteen cats is a little much, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Arthur, baby, come on.” Alfred scooted sideways and put an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, just like he knew he liked -- even if he had to push a cat off the back of the sofa to do it.  “You know Matt.  You know he’ll take good care of him.”

“I don’t care! Pookie isn’t yours to just… give away! He’s part of this family!”

“Well I had to give up my _dog_ for you --”

“Your dog was an _instigator_ \--”

Arthur slept alone that night for the first time in almost six months.  Alfred had gone home after their first fight with tears in his eyes, and even the cats seemed too disgusted to sleep with him -- so he held his pillow, imagining the gentle smell of Al’s cologne in his nose.

\--

When Feliks poked his head into the treatment room the next day and chirped “Your boyfriend’s here to see you!” Arthur could only bite his lip and try not to shake.

Alfred held up a McDonald’s bag as a sign of peace, though Arthur forgoed it to wrap his arms around him in a hug and whisper, “If your brother is going to take Pookie he has to take Princess, too.  They’re littermates and I won’t split them up.”

Al squeezed him tight and nodded into his hair.  “You know, my mom loves cats and her old one just died…”

“Don’t push your luck just yet,” Arthur said with a smile.

\--

Two years later Arthur sat down and opened his laptop.  There could be only one reigning queen of the new condo he shared with Al -- Domino, just Domino, who curled up beside him and purred his anger away as the computer wheezed and chugged to a start.

Into the searchbar Arthur reveled in typing every word, slowly, and watching them light up the screen:

_Cat-friendly wedding venues._

Click.


End file.
